


in the wise words of princess diana

by Florilege_mov



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Coming of Age, Depression, Elementary School, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, High School, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Just a mention of it, LGBTQ Themes, Life-story, Long ass story, M/M, Middle School, Self-Love, Suicidal Thoughts, biography, fast paced, for a reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florilege_mov/pseuds/Florilege_mov
Summary: Happiness.Yeah, that’s a weird little thing right there.There’s so much possibility in that one little word. It’s jam-packed with everything you thought you’d never get, never deserved, or that you had already. There’s so many synonyms that it hurts to think about it. Contentment, satisfaction, joy, the feeling of sunflowers blooming in your frail little chest and making you strong, y’know, the works. They all had something in common, though.You never really thought you’d find it.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	in the wise words of princess diana

Happiness. 

Yeah, that’s a weird little thing right there. 

There’s so much possibility in that one little word. It’s jam-packed with everything you thought you’d never get, never deserved, or that you had already. There’s so many synonyms that it hurts to think about it. Contentment, satisfaction, joy, the feeling of sunflowers blooming in your frail little chest and making you strong, y’know, the works. They all had something in common, though. 

You never really thought you’d find it. 

Right from the beginning, your life was rough. It sucked, and you hate to go back on it again and again, but both you and Lou agree that you need some sort of closure. 

The earliest event you can remember is around the age of 4, when your mom got you that baby blanket at Goodwill. You were so happy and blissfully unaware of what was happening around you. All that mattered was your mom and that faded, pinkish, sewn up little blanket. Good lord, you loved your mom so much. Looking back now, you understand why. She was the only thing you really had around, and you were the only thing she had. She poured her entire self into you. 

You never really asked why your dad was never around. It didn’t even disturb you until you were maybe 5, when everyone else would talk about their parents, and you didn’t know how to say to them that you didn’t know who your dad was, or where he was. All you could do was shove your face into your blanket and hide. Sometimes you’d cry, but you’d never understand why. Your mom always held you and sang you to sleep. 

Elementary school was dodgy for you. Both because your mom was struggling to keep you in the school, and because the kids just didn’t like how weird you were. Weird, you realize, isn’t really what you were. Quiet, reserved, artistic, shy- all better terms, and all ones that your mom had used. One of the most prominent faces from your childhood was that kid Miles. He’d taken one of your scribbly drawings and hid it from you, and you cried. That was the beginning of your whole “crybaby” rep. 

Your interest in art peaked in 3rd grade as a coping mechanism. Everyone in class thought you were the “best drawer in school”, which made you feel more powerful than it really should’ve. 

From there, it goes to static. You really can’t remember anything. You’ve spent forever trying to get that section of your life back. Staying up late with your head on Lou’s chest until he puts his hand on top of your head and tells you it’s alright, and that you should go to bed. And that he loves you. You tell him to shut up while smiling. 

The memories come back during 5th grade, when you actually made friends. 

Adriana, you remember. She was sweet. Long, brown hair and dark cheeks and some skin disease that you still can’t really pronounce, vitiligo, you think. She always liked to play in the mud, which grossed you out. One time, she made you hold a worm for 10 seconds and you started bawling halfway through, because you thought you were killing it. She kissed your cheek and showed you that it was okay, then picked up a beetle. 

You remember the quote, “nothing gold can stay”.

You came home that day in a good mood. You were gonna ask your mom if Adriana could maybe spend the night, but you remember walking into the living room to her holding those papers and crying. You repressed that too, can’t remember it 

The next day, your mom and you were on the streets. You were 10, with a suitcase of all your favorite items, living off of the kindness of strangers and your mother. You didn’t go to school for a few weeks, and when you came back, Adriana cried- you felt guilty for the first time. Once again, you can’t recall this as much as other times, because as a 10 year old, you refused to believe this was real. The homelessness didn’t last too long, but you think it was what messed you up the most; your mom felt horrible for putting you through it. 

You wish you could remember more of it, for both you and Lou’s sake, but he reassures you that it’s okay, and it’ll take time. You admire how strong he is for the hundredth time. 

When your mom got you back into a home, all you could do was lay in bed. For those few weeks when she was trying to get you into your middle school, you remember all the pain and frustration of so many things. As an 11 year old, you’d finally come to understand the feelings that consumed you; but it didn’t bring you peace. Not at all. You got more and more worried that there was something wrong with you, and that feeling sad wasn’t normal. Your mom, as always, was there to tell you that it was okay, and that she loves you. 

You have more vivid memories of middle school. More specifically, the weird way that teenagers get strangely competitive and mean in public schools. The kids always picked on you for being shy and liking art. Some girls admired you for being so kind, but the truth is that you just didn’t know how to respond to anything. Adriana was there, of course, to love and support you all the way through the year. 

Sixth grade was the year that you really got into music. You liked bands like The Smiths, Blink 182, Radiohead, and you really, really likes Fireflies by Owl City for some reason. Your electives were Art and computers. You’re pretty sure that you failed your math class the first semester, and your teacher recommended that you go to a psychiatrist to see if ADHD was there. 

Unsurprisingly, you did not have ADHD. You, however, were not in the most stable place either. You got sent to the school counselor's office every Friday, because your psychiatrist saw something in you that clearly wasn’t right. You liked your counselor. She was a nice, young woman; easy to trust and a shoulder to cry on. She provided you some answers as to why you always felt down, but you felt like you already knew that. 

The rest of sixth grade went pretty smoothly, and seventh grade wasn’t memorable in any capacity- you spent most of it sulking and questioning your sexuality. 

It was at the first dance of the year when you realized something. 

You were there, sat in the corner with Adriana, when your eyes landed on this awfully pretty blonde dude. You remember freaking out, because guys aren’t supposed to be pretty to you. No, you couldn’t like boys. You were supposed to like girls! But then again, if you liked girls, why wasn’t Adriana?.. your eyes went wide, and you’re sure you had a panic attack, because the next thing you can remember is Adriana holding your hand in the bathroom and trying to calm you down. It was so heat-of-the-moment and unsure and in-thought out, and it makes you laugh now, but you looked her in the eyes and said “I think I’m gay.”

You’d had these feelings for a long time. Those words coming out of your mouth reminded you of 6th grade, when your cheeks always got red when you’d talk to Trenton. And when your stomach did knots around the guys in your art class because you always thought they were all so talented and pretty. 

Nothing was more relieving than the reassurance from Adriana that she didn’t care, and that she loved you anyway. She probably knew already, in all honesty. 

The rest of eighth grade continued with the regular drama, fights, and rumors, nothing too exciting. When you left middle school, your teacher put you into pre-AP art, which made you so happy. 

Again, you repeat that nothing gold can stay.

Freshman year was the worst year of your life. 

You were glad you came from a generally accepting community in Texas, because all of your classmates had figured out that you were gay by now. Your tumblr account gave it away, probably. But public school was never too discriminatory. There was only ever an occasional slur from the kids in your history class, and even then, it didn’t bother you too much- you had your friends in that class. 

Your first boyfriend was an emotionally unavailable prick. Well, you say that, but now you understand why he was like that. Though he shouldn’t have done what he did to you, he didn’t know any better, and it’s not like either of you spoke up about being uncomfortable all too much. You told him that you weren’t sure about being a mantle for him to lean on all the time, and he took that the wrong way. He never talked to you after that, which caused so many panic attacks, until you finally gave in and broke it off with him. 

You jumped to conclusions when you saw something on his Instagram page. It made you flip shit- crying and all that crazy-ex-girlfriend shit, you texted Lilith about how ridiculous he was being. 

You didn’t expect her to send him screenshots. 

That was the first time you actually thought of killing yourself. Lilith, one your best friends of 5 years, had fucking snitched in your venting to her. She had absolutely no right to do that, but you’ve forgiven her by now. 

You ended up on the suicide hotline that night, bawling your eyes out. Adriana was there, of course.

The few days after that were nothing but being stuck in a loophole of depression and regret and trying to apologize to Callum (your ex, as you remember). You went on Reddit for answers and someone told you that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

Then, you found your rebound. Worst decision of your life. Your first time was spent with him, and needless to say, it sucked. You didn’t like him at all, butt it was like he just wouldn’t let you leave, he’d always start guilt-tripping whenever you tried to leave, and eventually coaxed you into sex. If you weren’t in the mood (which you never were), he’d threaten self-harm or suicide, and you couldn’t take that risk. Somehow, he’d managed to get under your skin so much that you didn’t even realize it was manipulation. 

Adriana was furious with the situation and broke it off with him for you after 2 months of emotional torment. 

You didn’t feel bad. 

This was sophomore year, when things started to look up for you. Besides all of your sexual and emotional trauma, of course. You were no longer stuck in a groundhog-day like loop of depression and occasional suicidal thoughts that you could never really go through with in the first place. You went through a few more ex's that couldn't really give you all too much. There was Jack, the to-be rockstar that you liked until he stole your credit card; and then Celeb who'd decided it'd be nice to mess around with a freshman girl. And a few others you'd forgotten about. You remember one of them broke up with you while on a date and you spilled your lemonade on the waiter and made him pay for the entire meal. Sometimes you hope they still think about you.

During the second semester, you dyed your hair pink. One of your truly life-defining moments, you think. Some kids- no- actually, a lot of kids thought it was weird, but you really liked it. It was different than the dull brunette that your father had in all of those old pictures. You didn't like looking like your father.

You kept the pink through junior year.

Junior year was.. Yeah.

But not "yeah" in a bad way. It was actually one of the best years you'd had, now that you think about it. That's when you met Lou.

When you met him, you kind of hated him. He was the super preppy, stuck up, popular french exchange kid that you could never be. It seemed like he had his whole life figured out already. He was always such a hardass, whenever he'd look look at you, those cold green eyes would bore into you like a drill. His hair was gelled up into a side part, and it was dyed platinum. He was tall, but not lanky- actually, he was pretty muscular, which was a godsend for your closeted ass- despite how scary he was.

You hate to admit it, but you admired him. He knew what he wanted and was confident in himself.

The first time you talked to him was in gym class. His voice was super heavy with that French accent and he could barely speak English. 

You got to know each other pretty well in Junior year, and you learned how to understand his broken english between his stuttering. He said he liked your hair a lot, and you told him you liked his eyes. You'd always stay over at his house, and his mom adored you, but he never let you really go downstairs to interact with his dad. Unsurprisingly, he was absolutely loaded. He lived in a three story house, but he nonstop talked about how he hated how big and empty it was. You remember being confused with how he could be unhappy with a big house. 

Fast forwarding to the end of the semester, Lou was your best friend. He was more fluent in English, and more open to you- less angry and closed off. You knew his fears, he knew yours, you knew about his dad and he knew about yours. Close as two people could be, really. His real personality was sweet. He was loving and attached to you, and would probably beat someone’s ass for you, that made your heart flutter. 

You finished that year with good grades and a smile on your face. 

In senior year, a lot happened. 

You recognized the symptoms of a crush relatively quickly. Lou was smart, loyal like a dog, loving, creative, sensitive-.. just everything you could want. Plus, he had a banging body. Your friendship was the only thing stopping you from kissing him and then riding him senseless, respectively. You thought about him all the time when you were alone. About his hair, his sunkissed skin, his dark eyes (which you’d managed to brighten just a bit), his mysterious past, his dedication to you. And then his personality- oh god his personality. You’re pretty sure he’s on the debate team because he’s so quick-witted and smart, but understanding and open minded. Nothing turns you on like an open minded man. It all happened relatively quickly, but you couldn’t give a fuck. 

You and Lou got.. really close. Like, closer than you and Adriana. You guys kissed at Clyde’s end of semester party. He got real frantic and nearly panicked until you told him it was cool and gave him a lovesick smile. From there, you took it easy through the end of the year, no labels but no fucking around. Adriana thought he was good for you, as long as he wasn’t an ass like he was in Junior year. Better yet, you could feel that you had real feelings for him.

Love, you think, is just as weird as happiness. You don’t know it until you feel it, and you didn’t feel it until that Senior year. As scary as that might’ve been, you loved it. You passed the year in flying colors, and graduated with Lou staring at you from the chairs with a look that made your heart melt. 

That summer, you told your mom about Lou. Unsurprisingly, she loved you just as she did before, and she supported it like nothing else. God, you love your mom. 

She also really liked Lou. He was kind and respectful towards your mom whenever he came over to your apartment and always helped her with the dishes or the trash. It made your heart flutter some more. 

You and Lou were rarely apart. He’d finally asked you out and spilled his guts about how he felt in the parking lot of a Starbucks in the rain- you can still recall what he said,

“Fennec. Oh fuck how do I do this, uh, Fennec. Yeah, yeah. Uh-.. Merde- shit, sorry you have places to go, don’t you? Okay, okay.. I.. uh.. fuck, okay, I just wanted you to know that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Like, I don’t know-.. you don’t know a lot about my past or anything, but it’s kinda fucked up, and it’s like you make up for it all. My heart does little retourne in my chest every time I see you smile, and I know “we’re” kind of... ambiguous?.. Is that the word?..” you nod through your shock, he still struggles with English,

“Okay, yeah, ambiguous. Anyway, I feel like you make up the better part of myself. I.. I think I love you?”

Okay wow, you’re pretty sure he was crying, and so were you. 

“I was wondering-.. uh-.. if you would be my boyfriend?”

You nodded without hesitation, and dropped your marshmallow frappe on the ground in favor of hugging him. 

Skipping ahead, you remember how happy you were. You told your mom about it every single day, “He’s so nice to me.”; “He writes poems about me!”; “I think he calls me something romantic in French, but I don’t know what it means, should I take French in college?”

The next biggest event was.. you blush thinking about it. You can vaguely remember all the sweat and the smell of sex in the air, but you vividly recall the sensation of his hands on your thighs, his sweet accented voice talking you to “go at your own pace”, panting and tracing your fingertips across his toned and scarred chest, how fucking horny you were for him- most importantly, your love for him. You’re sure your mom came back home halfway through your.. session- because she still makes jokes about it. 

You pause before moving forward with the memories. You like this part more than most. 

His slow hands were moving up your thighs, gripping onto your hips and rocking your body with your own movements. Your pink-stained hair dwell in front of your face, your mouth agape as you furiously moved your hips against his. He pulled you into a deep kiss, and you felt your teeth scrape against his, and you laughed the best you could without screaming in pleasure. Ah yeah, good times. 

You told Adriana all about it, of course. 

It was fall when you guys bought an apartment with Lou’s money, and decided to move in together. Yeah, yeah, it’s a big step and all that shit, but you’ve known Lou for 2 years, and been in live with him for 1, that’s damn long enough. 

Lou got a job in retail, and you started earning $30-$50 a commission. You took up art as a full-time thing, and sold your shit to people who wanted it. You occasionally sexted Lou on the job. You stay like this for another year, happy. 

Now you’re here, recalling your entire life story while resting your head on your boyfriend-of-4-years’ shoulders. Your mom visits sometimes, and bakes with Lou while you paint. You still love him. You love him even more if that’s possible. He’s stroking your hair, and you lean into his hand, a wide smile on your face. You’re suddenly so happy you were strong enough to hold on in Freshman year. 

Happiness, you find, is still weird. It’s different for everyone. 

For you, it’s the feeling of Lou holding you close, the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of learning to love yourself, and loving Lou. If nothing else, happiness is self-love. 

“I love you,” you hear Lou whisper, twirling a strand of your no-longer-pink hair between his fingers. You’d made the decision to go natural again, out of spite of your father. He wouldn’t get the best of you. You sigh happily. 

“I love you too. So much.”

You and Lou have been through everything together. You can’t remember dreaming in color before you met him. 

In the wise words of Princess Diana, “Everyone of us needs to show how much we care for each other, and, in the process, care for ourselves.”


End file.
